Rose Tint My Shattered World
by musashihazmat84
Summary: Janet has changed after the events of that late November evening; what will keep her safe from her toubles and pain? Brad's POV, Please R/R!


Author's Note: 2013 update is to fix formatting issues.

Rose Tint My Shattered World

by Musashihazmat84

The air was thick and hazy, and reeked of nicotine- an extreme contrast to the crisp air of late February from which Brad Majors had just stepped in from. Remaining inconspicuous, he scanned the dim barroom, sure she had to be there. This was one of the worst places she could be, but she didn't care- not for herself, nor for others. She was numb.

And- Brad realized as soon as he saw her- at the moment, she was comfortably numb. Her blonde hair had a wild look to it, and she lazily smiled for no other reason other than the fact that she was drunk- again.

As he made his way through the maze of people in varying stages of drunkenness, he began to hear part of the conversation she was having with a platinum blonde man sitting next to her. The dull roar of the other conversations seemed to fade as he approached the two.

"So I look like- Frankenstein!?" said the man, astonished. His voice was slurred, just as hers was.

"No," she said, "you don't look like Frankenstein." She took a large gulp of whatever vile liquid was in her glass, and Brad cringed. "And," she continued, "I never said he did either. He was a real Adonis but dumb as an ape!"

"Hey," the man gestured with his own glass, "apes can be smart too." Both collapsed onto the bar in a fit of drunken laughter.

Brad lightly touched her shoulder, trying not to startle her. "Janet?"

She lifted her head off the slightly sticky counter and lazily stared at him with glazed eyes. "Oh, hi Brad."

The unnamed man stopped laughing. Pointing and trying to stifle giggles, he asked, "Is this your husband? The one the alien screwed?"

Dismissing the question, Brad shook his head as he helped Janet in the now-difficult task of getting up. "Oh, don't lie Brad, " she said, "You know you liked it."

Although his blood was near the boiling point, he knew she was too drunk to talk rationally- and also too drunk to argue. He couldn't blame her for whatever she said, but he could blame her for getting drunk *again*. With an arm around her waist and the other holding one of her arms, Brad tried to refrain from dragging his pregnant wife as he escorted her from the bar.

The car was started and well on its way home before Janet broke the angry silence. "I don't see why you care, " she said, "It's not like the child is yours."

"That's not the point, Janet."

"What IS the point then?"

"Why punish the child for your mistake?"

"Don't, Brad..."

"Well, Goddammit, isn't that what you're doing by drinking so damn much?"

She remained silent.

"That child is a life, Janet, and I think you're forgetting that. It doesn't ever have to know how it was conceived, or who his father could have been." He paused, waiting for a smart remark from her. It was a remark that -oddly- wouldn't come, and he continued. "I've told you that I am prepared to be that child's father; he would be like one of my own. The town doesn't know the truth, and he won't either. That's not what's important. That baby deserves a chance at life, no matter who his parents are."

Janet said nothing, which was unusual. Every fight they'd had about her drinking almost always ended in screaming and slamming of doors, but not this one. The words, the circumstances weren't any different than the other fights, but the outcome was.

Either way, Brad was grateful for the silence.

Janet had never been the same since that late November evening. The change was immediately noticeable in the first hours after their return to the "real world", for Janet hardly spoke or ate for the next week. She complained that her food no longer had a taste, and she was never happy. Brad could tell she hated herself, but he felt that nothing he could say or do would help her out of the metaphorical ravine she'd fallen into.

For him, life had gone on. While it was true that the lascivious Dr. Frank N. Furter had seduced Brad, it was not true that he "screwed" him as the man in the bar had said. Frank only gave him oral sex, and although the experience was pleasurable, it didn't leave a lasting effect on his conscience. He prefered to look at the whole night as some strange dream which left him with little guilt. It was like he had been drunk, after all, Frank's amorous passion was intoxicating like alcohol- and everyone consumed too much. Had Janet not lost her virginity there, then she may have been able to view that night the same way Brad did.

And he had nearly convinced her to view it in the same light as well, except for the one thing that shattered all that. She'd promised him that she would be abstinate as she had always been, and tried to put the night out of her mind. Slowly, but surely, she began to climb out of that ravine of guilt, and by Christmas she was the happiest she had been since the afternoon of Ralph and Betty Hapschatt's wedding; the afternoon that Brad had proposed; the afternoon before the evening that changed everything.

It was the day after Christmas, and Brad and Janet had decided to visit Ralph and Betty, and some other old friends. Brad had arrived at her parents' house a little early, just as her parents were leaving. Her mother had told him that Janet was still getting ready and would be down soon, so he sat down on the couch and flipped through the latest issue of "Psychology Today."

Minutes passed; ten, fifteen, twenty. Brad checked his watch and knew they would have to leave soon or else they would be late. Just as he was about to call up the stairs, he heard a blood-curdling cry, which conjured up memories of the bloody and vicious murder they'd witnessed on that night. Closing his eyes, he could see it all again; the blood, the horrified stares, the satanic look on Frank's face. The sudden crash of shattering glass freed Brad from his frozen trance, and he raced up the stairs, calling Janet's name.

At the top, he was greeted by no answer, only the sound of faint sobbing.

"Janet?"

No answer; only sobbing.

Brad apprehensively continued down the hall towards the only closed door; towards the bathroom; towards the sound of Janet in despair. He knocked, but hesistated before he spoke. "Janet?"

No answer. He shook his head and stared down at the doorknob. Should he wait longer; should he keep knocking?

No. He had to be there for her. Too often he hadn't been , and now was not the time to leave her in her own isolation, to desert her. He tried the door, and much to his surprise, it gave. Therefore he opened it slowly, apprehensive of what he might see, and careful not to startle her. Once he saw her, he knew she was completely oblivious to him. Her disarrayed hair spilled over her delicate hands; her face half-hidden by her knees. Curled into the fetal position, her body shook with fear and now-silent sobs. In the dim light of the dark bathroom, Brad saw a small white object on the floor near Janet's feet. As he advanced, glass crunched under his feet- pieces of a full-length mirror that once hung on the back of the door.

When he was close enough, he picked up the white plastic thing and examined it. As he turned it over, he suddenly knew what was going on.

A little blue plus sign glared back at him.

Brad knelt beside his fiancee and embraced her as her sobs became audible once again.

Keeping Janet's pregnancy a secret was easy compared to trying to tell her parents why they could no longer wait to get married. They pretended to be love-struck-fools, but the truth was that that particular stage of their relationship began almost seven years before, and ended that past November. Janet's love for Brad was now smothered by her guilt of what she'd done; she wanted to love, but the baby in her womb turned out to be the physical manifestation of her guilt.

So, for convienence and to cover the scandal, Brad and Janet married. On the outside, it was a happy and joyous occaision; on the inside both Brad and Janet knew that she didn't feel Brad deserved her.

For that reason, there was no "wedding night"; nor had they consumated their marriage to the date of their most recent fight. He never pushed the issue of sex; when she was ready, she would let him know.

Soon after their honeymoon to New York City, Janet started becoming reclusive. The trip out of state only served to be a vacation from work; like a three day date for the two of them. For as long as they were gone, Janet distracted herself with the museums, shops, and all the gradeur of the Big Apple. Once they were back in Denton, the "Home of Happiness," as a billboard claimed, Janet only became worse.

Then she started drinking.

It had been a snowy day, and Brad had come home early from the office because the roads were getting bad. Denton High- where Janet worked as a secretary- had also closed early, but she had been home over an hour already.

When Brad walked in, he immediately heard the crash of glass, followed by an "Oh shit," from an irritated Janet.

"Janet?" Brad called, "Everything okay?" Receiving no answer, or reaction of any sort, he walked toward the kitchen of their small apartment where he could hear her sweeping up whatever she broke. When he reached the kitchen, she was depositing a glass into the trash. She turned, and slightly weaving, made her way back to the counter where an open bottle of peachtree schnopps stood, the cap to it's side.

Brad tried to calm his wildly beating heart, and took a deep breath to marshall his thoughts into some sort of order. "Janet?"

"Oh, hi Brad." She opened the cupboard, looking for another glass. Finding one, she slammed it down on the counter with such force that he thought this one would suffer the same fate as the last. She grasped the bottle by its long neck, but before she could begin to pour herself another glass, Brad seized her wrist.

"Let me go."

He tightened his grip. "How much of this have you had?"

She looked away, but he only shook her, nearly shouting, "Answer me!"

She winced, but then waved her hand clumsily. "I dunno."

"Well," he said, taking the bottle to the sink, "you're not having anymore."

"Brad? What're you-" He glanced at her. "Brad, don't..." she pleaded. Tipping the bottle up, he only could watch as the contents poured out into the sink and swirled down the drain, out of Janet's reach.

"Brad?" she said from behind him, "why did you do that? You wasted a ..."

He didn't dare look at her. He could feel anger burning inside him; his heart thudded against his chest while he tried to keep whatever self control he had left. She was more smashed than the glass she broke, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to hit her. How could she be so selfish?

And she kept rattling on about that damn peachtree.

"You think you're so damned righteous," she said accusingly, "I was only trying to warm up."

That did it. Heaving the bottle at the wall, he shouted, "Like hell! Dammit, you're completely wasted!"

She only stared at the brown shards of glass scattered across the floor as a heavy silence descended upon them; a silence only broken by the sound of Brad's footsteps as he left the apartment and went back out into the snow.

Brad awakened in his comfortable armchair, surprised to see light streaming out of a small crack in the doorway of the bathroom. The lamp next to him was on as well, and in the illumination of the living room, Brad could see the clock on the wall. 3 AM.

Removing the newspaper from his lap, he quietly rose and walked to the bathroom where he could hear Janet throwing up, yet again. He entered the bright bathroom without words of either reproach nor comfort, but rather silence. She was weakly leaning her head against the toilet, her eyes shut with a pained expression on her face. He knelt beside her and placed a caring hand on her shoulder, and her tired eyes opened. Her hazel eyes, once bright and lively, seemed to be suffocated by the heavy dark bags under them.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Brad," she said, exhausted, "this has to stop."

He said nothing, knowing as well as she did that her feeling of being ill wasn't caused by any morning sickness. "I know, Janet, that's what I-"

She cut him off. "No, this must stop!" Her voice began to deteriorate in frustration as she continued, "I WANT to stop, Brad, but every day- I feel I can't stop- I've tried and..." She paused to wipe stray tears from her eyes, her voice no more than a whisper now. "I can't..."

He only held her as moments passed. She didn't sob; neither spoke as they sat in each other's embrace in the cold tile floor; the clock ticked away in the next room, with each tick growing more loud. Janet's whisper shattered the silence, as she finally broke down.

"Help me, Brad..."

The cold rain poured down upon the small car as it drove along the unfamiliar windy back road, lined by dormant trees. Brad tightly gripped the wheel of the car, trying to prevent his hands from shaking. Janet had barely spoken all morning, claiming that she still felt tired from the previous night's episode. While she had been in the shower, Brad called a friend of Dr. Scott's to tell him that he and Janet would be arriving in about an hour and a half. Janet was oblivious to where they were going, and Brad knew she didn't care. She was glad to get out of the house, and that was about all.

He didn't want to do this, but he knew he had to. If he didn't, he would never see the old Janet again, the Janet he so deeply loved; he had to do this for the unborn child's sake, for the child he would someday love as his own. Only good would come from this...only good.

He could see the brick building in the grey distance and knew it was only a short amount of time before Janet would realize what was going on. A gasp of betrayal escaped from her as they pulled in the driveway, and when Brad looked over to her a few moments later, he saw a lone tear slide down her tired face. However, she said nothing, didn't protest, nor did she question it as Brad parked the car.

They stepped out of the car into the freezing rain, which immediately began to soak them, and as they walked toward the door, the rain became an icy mask, effectively hiding the couple's tears.

Before Brad opened the door for Janet, she turned to look at him. Her eyes were a mask of fear, but that mask had always been one Brad could see through. In her frightened eyes, he could see a grateful "Thank you"; one which would never leave her lips.

He kissed her forehead, and together, Brad and Janet walked hand in hand into Brunton Sanitarium.


End file.
